


Identity Crisis

by phnx007



Category: Angel: the Series, Bones (TV), Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Government conspiracies according to Jack Hodgins, Shanshu Prophecy, Wolfram & Hart, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phnx007/pseuds/phnx007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They did it. They won. Not without casualties though. Wesley. Fred. And Angel. Except! Something weird is going on (when is it not?) over in Washington DC in the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building, and his name is Special Agent Seeley Booth. Or is it Angel? He's not quite sure himself, but he's got a plan to figure it out, with a little help from his friends. Current, and past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> This was first posted on ff.net. It's being posted here with a slightly new upgrade. Read — it's been edited. The one on ff.net currently has five chapters and hasn't been updated in a while. I'm working on it. Enjoy!

Giles’ concentration on the history and lifestyle of a Lurite demon was being interrupted by a small squeak every five seconds — the amount of time it took Buffy’s chair to swivel back around to that maddening squeak. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. The world was about to come to an end because a squeak of a chair defeated his research abilities. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Giles thought grimly.

“Giles, I’m bored,” Buffy sighed, finally stopping the chair and most importantly, the squeak, so that it was facing him. “Are you sure you couldn’t hurry it up with the research there and I can get on with the slayage?”

Giles looked up from the ancient demon text he had been (attempting to) read for the past two hours, a startled expression on his face. “Well gee, Buffy, I’m awfully sorry that the information we need to defeat this demon is not presenting itself so readily. It might do that, however, if I had some help.”

“But Willow and Xander went out for ice cream. It would be rude to call them back just so they can do research.” Buffy’s face and voice held no trace of irony, meaning she was sincere in her confusion. Typical, Giles thought. Buffy never was one for research.

He rolled his eyes and went back to reading, muttering something about how surprising it was the world hadn’t totally ended yet.

After a few more moments, Buffy sighed again. “Giles—“

“Don’t you have work to do, Buffy?” Giles asked, not taking his eyes off of his book.

“I do, but it’s desk work, and desk work is too boring, especially right now when all I want is some good slaying distractions.” The last part she had muttered to herself, most likely not meaning for Giles to hear. But Giles wasn’t a former Watcher for nothing, and his multitasking skills were phenomenal. He had an idea what this was about. It was coming up on the anniversary, after all. Giles had his opinions on the matter, and though he wasn’t entirely ungrateful toward the bastard, he did believe it was time for Buffy to officially move on. And to do that, she needed to talk about it. He leaned back in his chair, settling his hands across his belly, and gave her what he hoped was an understanding look. “Ah, is this about — “

 “Don’t say it,” Buffy snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Buffy it’s been — “

“I know how long it’s been, and I know what you’re going to say — that if Angel were still alive, he would have contacted me, us, by now.” The fire went from Buffy’s eyes to be replaced by an irritated tiredness, one born from years of hope and disappointment. “Of course,” she went on before Giles could stop her, “if he hadn’t been such a goddamn idiot and asked for my help, he wouldn’t possibly be dead and/or missing in the first place. I mean, really, he’s such a martyr. He’s got so many complexes, even his complexes have complexes. If I ever find him again, I’m sending him to therapy.” There was a brief pause, during which Giles saw a contemplative look cross Buffy’s features. Then, “Do you know anyone who would take a 250 year old vampire with a soul who carries a lot of guilt from brutally killing people the first 150 years of his undead life as a patient?”

Giles blinked. “Been wanting to rant about all that for a long time, have you?”

“Yeah,” Buffy deflated, falling back in her chair, the chair squeaking one last time. “Thinking about it, I don’t think any shrink could handle that kind of patient.”

* * *

 

_Washington DC: The Office of Doctor Lance Sweets_

Doctor Lance Sweets stared hard at his patient. No, not his patient. His friend. At least he thought so. The FBI agent had problems with threatening Sweets to either a) beat him up, or b) shoot him. Non-lethally, of course. But shooting him all the same.

But still, his friend.

And right now, Sweets was deeply concerned about his friend.

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat yourself?”

“You damn well heard me, Sweets.”

“Yes, I heard you,” Sweets said, trying not to let the frustration in his voice sound. Booth had had a rough time of it ever since his operation. Yes, that was the reason for the new spike in insanity going on in this office at this moment. Sweets swiped at his brow, sorting out what Booth had just told just him, and adjusted the yellow legal pad on his lap, not quite sure what he should be writing. Or if he should actually write any of this down, not wanting to have to put the agent on indefinite leave. “So you’re saying, and correct me if I’m wrong here, but you think you’re a 250-year-old vampire who was cursed with his soul in the year 1898 by Gypsies so you could suffer for the crimes that you committed while not in possession of your soul?”

“No.”

“But that’s what you just said.”

“No. I said that I _used_ to be a 250-year-old vampire who was cursed with is soul in 1898 by Gypsies in order to suffer for crimes committed while soulless.”

Sweets clicked his pen. “Uh huh.”

“Obviously I’m not one now, Sweets.” Sweets had been trying to be the professional one here by keeping a level voice, but his friend had no such qualms evidenced by his rising tone. “There is sunlight streaming through your window and hitting me. I am sitting in direct sunlight and not bursting into flames.”

Sweets stared at the agent again. “You really believe this, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Sweets waited, knowing that wasn’t everything.

Then Special Agent Seeley Booth sighed, clearly frustrated and confused. He ran a hand through his hair and across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his zippo lighter, flipping it open and closed. He sat back and sighed.

“At least, I think so.”


	2. Those Who Hang Out In Cemeteries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has read this particular fic on ff.net, you'll notice quite a few changes. Not in plot or anything, but in length of chapter. I wanted to give the story more substance. The chapters on ff.net felt too rushed. And as they say, writing is rewriting and rewriting and rewriting! 
> 
> And if I didn't say before, Bones and Buffy and Angel are definitely not mine.

Ever since his operation, Booth couldn’t stand to look in the mirror. For one, there was an ugly scar on his head that served as an uncomfortable reminder that not a month ago, someone had drilled inside his head with, you know, a drill. Just the thought alone was enough to send shivers down his spine. The other reason, and this was the more concerning development, was because looking at his reflection was odd. Like he wasn’t really supposed to be there. A photoshopped cut-out, if you will. If Booth was being honest with himself, he looked unnatural standing there. Damn brain tumor really did a job of lowering his self-esteem.

And screwing with his perception of reality. Vampires _,_ Booth scoffed as he adjusted his tie, standing in front of the mirror but avoiding eye contact with himself. What a joke _._ Although he had to admit the nightmares (memories?) he kept having at night of his supposed vampire self was better than any vampire movie he had ever seen. A thought he had carefully concealed from Sweets the other day during his confession. No need for the agency shrink to know the department had a possible bloodthirsty vampire on their hands.

Former vampire? Dead vampire? But weren’t vampires dead already? Could someone retire from being a vampire? Were there such things as good vampires? Booth felt like a good person, but things were very confusing at the moment, obviously. He should look up vampire lore during his lunch break.

Speaking of, he had a day job to get to.

Just as he decided his tie was perfectly adjusted, his cell phone rang. He picked it up from the dresser in front of him and smiled when he saw Bones was calling him.

“Hey Bones, what’s up?” Booth asked as he made his way to the kitchen for some coffee from the pot he had started earlier.

“Hello, Booth. An Agent Rogers is at the Jeffersonian and says he’s your indefinite replacement. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Booth decided not to question how he kept the pot from breaking on the floor after it slipped out of his hands as Bones’ words registered in his mind. He was one of the best snipers in the country. His job sort of demanded he had fast reflexes. That was all. “Uh,” he started, placing the pot back on the burner and reaching for his keys. “Um, no, no everything is fine.” He just had a shrink to kill.

“Well, I don’t like this Agent Rogers, Booth,” Bones went on, her usually calm demeanor growing more irritated with the continued break in routine. “He lacks the propensity to bicker with his coworkers, something I used to find quite annoying, but am now missing, and the others are too. Rogers also says he’s here for the time being because Sweets didn’t clear you for field duty yet. I thought you seemed fine earlier.”

“I am fine, Bones,” Booth replied as he slid into the front of his SUV and turned the ignition. “I just need to have a word with Sweets and get this straightened out.

“Booth, is everything okay? You’re okay, right?”

Booth paused. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Before Bones could respond, Booth hung up and pulled out of the parking lot.

Maybe not kill. Just maim.

* * *

 

 Sweets had barely managed not to spill his coffee all over his new suit when his office door flew open to reveal a very irate Agent Booth standing in his doorway. Sweets did, however, burn his tongue on said coffee, and for that, he momentarily forgot just how intimidating Booth could be.

“Ow! Geez, Booth, haven’t you ever heard of knocking? My tongue probably can’t be saved due to the severe burning it just received because _you kicked in my office door!_ ”

Booth had his hands on his hips, and his expression clearly said he couldn’t care less about Sweets’ injury. “What are you, twelve?” Booth asked, waving a hand in the air to convey his obvious frustration. “Wait, don’t answer. You are. Now, sit down. I’ve got some things to say to you.”

Sweets gulped. He knew what Booth wanted to talk about. “Uh, Booth. I am sitting down.”

Booth shuffled his feet. “Oh. Right. Then I’ll just sit down then.”

The agent made sure to shut Sweets’ office door so no on in the general vicinity could over hear their conversation.

Booth settled down into the couch in the same spot he was in during their last conversation, staring hard at Sweets. “Why didn’t you clear me for field duty?”

Sweets figured that’s what the agent was here for, but he didn’t expect the absolute confusion to be present on Booth’s face. “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

“This is about the vampire thing, isn’t it?”

This was definitely a pacing conversation. Sweets set his coffee down on the small table in front of him, stood up, and began the short journey from one side of the room to the other. “Yes, this is about the vampire thing. I’m not clearing you for field duty until I know for sure you’re not totally insane!”

Booth sighed and sat back. If Sweets knew the agent, and he liked to think he did, recent strange developments aside, then Sweets knew the only things currently going through Booth’s mind were how to get off the crazy train and back in the field.  Sweets wanted that too. He missed his friend, and the normalcy of their work relationship. Forget the vampires. Booth had also gone through major brain surgery because of a tumor. Life needed to revert to normal as soon as possible, otherwise they all were going to go crazy.

As much as Sweets wanted everything to be the way they were before the surgery, the psychologist and behavioral analyst in him couldn’t ignore a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that maybe Booth’s idea of normalcy was of a more dangerous life, and that the life he had working with Doctor Brennan and the rest of the Jeffersonian team was the distorted reality. If that was the case, Sweets wasn’t sure what to do, or what that would mean. Was this _Fringe —_ two parallel, but ultimately different universes — they all were living in, or was this _Fringe,_ and he’s Peter and he’ll be erased from the time line and forgotten once Booth figures things out?

_Fringe_ was a really weird show.

Sweets shook his head to clear away his confusing thoughts. He still was pacing, throwing worried glances in Booth’s direction. He stopped though when he saw Booth’s expression light up.

“Sweets!” Booth exclaimed, jumping up off the couch. “I’ve got proof!”

This couldn’t be good, Sweets thought. “Oh, you got proof now?” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “I’m sorry Booth, but this is insane.”

“Sweets, listen to me. I’ve got proof.” Booth practically was bouncing on his feet. It was the most energy he had expressed since his surgery, and it was good to see. It really, really was.

But not in this context. “I don’t care. I’m not going along with whatever you’re thinking,” Sweets said.

“Fine. Let’s make a bet — I show you my proof, and it’s correct, I get a hundred dollars and you clear me for field duty. If my proof proves false, I owe you a hundred dollars and you still clear me for field duty.”

Sweets rolled his eyes at Booth. “Aren’t you a reformed gambler? You shouldn’t be making bets.”

Booth didn’t answer. Sweets thought a moment. A hundred dollars _…_

“What kind of proof?”

Booth smiled then. It wasn’t a smile that Sweets had ever seen Booth use before. He wouldn’t say it was evil, _exactly_. But it was twisted in a sort of I-know-something-you-don’t-know kind of smile, but with a hint of wickedness throw in. Sweets didn’t think Booth was even aware he was doing it.

* * *

 

  _A Cemetery in Washington D.C._

Sweets couldn’t believe he let Booth, whose sanity currently was surrounded with question marks, drag him out to some cemetery in the middle of the night. It was cold, and had recently rained, which meant sitting was out of the question, as the grass still was very damp. Plus, a cemetery. Cemeteries had dead people, and dead people freaked Sweets out.

Currently, they were standing in front of a grave marked “David Shaw — Beloved Brother” and apparently Booth thought a vampire was going to rise from the ground. Right here. In this spot.

Sweets wondered if Zach was feeling lonely in the asylum. He had a perfect someone he could throw in there to keep Zach company.

Sweets crossed his arms and looked over at his friend. Booth was staring at the grave with apprehension. Sweets couldn’t blame him. They apparently were waiting for a vampire, and all Booth had was a newspaper tucked under one arm.

They had been standing there for a little over an hour.

Sweets shivered. “Um, Booth? What’s supposed to be happening?” Despite his reservations about Booth’s claims, Sweets couldn’t help but whisper.

“Just hang on a second,” Booth replied, also whispering, not taking his eyes off the headstone.

Sweets sighed.

A couple of minutes passed. Some birds chirped. Crickets sang. A newspaper rumpled. Then,

“Oh.”

Sweets glanced at Booth. “What?”

Booth laughed, shaking his head, now looking at the newspaper he had brought with him. “This is the wrong the grave. The dead person we’re waiting for is _Daniel_ Shaw. Not David. Follow me.”

Yes, they were federal agents, and yes, these were your tax dollars at work. This is going to be a long night,Sweets thought, and then took off after Booth because his own sanity also was in question.

* * *

 

_At the Grave of Daniel Shaw — Same Cemetery, Same Night_

“Okay, now the fun can begin!”

They had been having fun? “Oh, I thought it began when we stood in front of the wrong grave for an hour,” Sweets grumbled.

“Wow, was that sarcasm Sweets?” Booth replied. “There is no sarcasm allowed when demon fighting.” Booth looked thoughtful for a moment. “However, any witty puns are acceptable.”

“Booth, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Uh — just, never mind.”

And so they stood, once again, in front of a grave, apparently waiting for a vampire to rise out of the ground.

But as it turned out, they didn’t have to wait as long. Sweets didn’t know if the universe was taking mercy on him by getting the festivities rolling for tonight so he no longer had to wait in the freezing cold, or if it really hated him because yep, a goddamn vampire was rising from the ground to kill them all.

Sweets eyes grew wide as the ground started to rumble, and continued to grow when a hand shot through the grass, searching for purchase. When his eyes reached their outward limit, Sweets squeaked.

“Booth…th-there’s a…uh, a…” he choked.

“Yep.”

“I mean, a hand just shot through the ground!”

“I see that, Sweets.” Booth’s nonchalant manner in the face of certain death really was starting to piss Sweets off.

Sweets gulped. “What do we do?”

Booth stared at the hand. Which then turned into an arm. Then another hand and arm, when, finally, a full-fledged vampire was standing before them.

Sweets had the distinct feeling Booth hadn’t really expected to be right. But there wasn’t ever stopping the agent when he claimed ‘gut feeling!’ and Sweets had to admit, Booth’s gut feelings usually were pretty good.

Sweets also had to grudgingly admit the obituary in the newspaper that had been Booth’s source of excitement back in Sweets’ office earlier about Daniel Shaw dying of blood loss with two holes in his neck was pretty suspicious.

Booth turned to Sweets, eyes wide. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“You’re not sure? You’re NOT SURE?!” Sweets yelled as the two of them backed away from the slowly advancing vampire. “This was your idea!”

“I had a gut feeling, Sweets! A gut feeling!” Booth hissed.

“Why are your gut feelings _always_ right? You couldn’t have been wrong just this once?! I would feel way more comfortable with throwing you in the loony bin with Zach than I am with going face to face with a freaking vampire!”

Booth stopped and turned to Sweets. “Well, gee Sweets. Tell me how you really feel.”

“Booth, what are you doing? The vampire is right—“

Sweets was cut off when the vampire took a hold of Booth and lifted him up in the air by the neck.

“Ah, how easy this was,” the vampire growled. “My food came right to me. I was hoping to have a little more fun.”

Sweets stopped. “Wait, what? What kind of line was that? That was straight out of any cheesy horror film!”

“Sweets—“ Booth coughed, the vampire’s hold on his neck tightening.

“What?”

“Branch,” Booth choked out, extending his hand toward Sweets. “Now!” Before Sweets could comprehend what Booth was talking about, however, the vampire tossed Booth aside and turned toward Sweets.

Booth fell to the ground, gasping, desperately trying to gulp in more air while keeping an eye on Sweets, who had started up his retreat once again, and the vampire.

“Booth, do something!” Sweets exclaimed as the vampire stalked toward him. Sweets’ retreat halted as he hit a tree behind him. The vampire was getting closer, almost on him now, as Sweets kept one eye on the vampire and one on Booth. He watched Booth wrangle in a breath and then stand up, slightly wobbly, grabbing the lowest hanging branch of the nearest tree. By the time the vampire had a hand around Sweets’ neck, Booth had yanked on the branch as hard as he could, the branch snapping off pretty easily. His vision quickly going blurry, Sweets could barely make out Booth as the agent turned to the vampire, broke the branch in half and plunged it into the vampire’s heart. Dust exploded around them, and Sweets fell to the ground.

Sweets looked up at Booth, wheezing and blinking furiously, trying to clear his eyes from the lack of air and the surrounding dust. “You came to—” Sweets gulped in a breath, tried again. “—to a demon fight without any weapons?”

Booth shrugged, looking at the branch in his hand. “Guess so.”

Sweets groaned and rolled onto his back. “You were right.”

The agent sat down on the ground next to Sweets, still out of breath himself.

There was a moment of silence.

“Hey, Sweets.”

“Hmm?”

“You have to clear me for field duty now.”

Sweets waved a hand in the air in acknowledgement.

“Oh,” Booth continued, and despite their near death experience not moments before, and the fact that both their lives had just drastically changed for the foreseeable future, Sweets could hear the amusement in Booth’s voice. “You owe me hundred bucks.”

Sweets tried not to laugh, but life was just too damn funny sometimes.  


	3. Ghosts and Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm firmly of the belief that Spike and Angel are secretly BFF, they just never want to admit it.

Willow hadn’t meant to find it. She had been searching the computer for any news reports on suspicious deaths on the east coast for a case on which they were working. It was a few days after the team concluded the Lurite demon case, a few days after Buffy and Faith had tracked it down to a cemetery — because it was always a cemetery — and narrowly escaped any lasting injuries. Such a case shouldn’t have been difficult for them, but lately, the two senior slayers weren’t getting along. Pretty par for the course for the two, really, but for the last five years, their arguments only centered on one person. And it was that person that had just popped up on Willow’s computer screen.

He looked the same, if slightly older. One could argue he was just an ancestor, because this shouldn’t be possible. And didn’t his whole family die in a village almost 300 years ago, anyway? But there was no mistaking the eyes. Dark, chocolate brown. And haunted. Apparently you could take the demon out of the man, but not the guilt.

Supposedly he worked for the FBI now.

Next to what Willow assumed was Angel’s ID photo — now identifying him as Special Agent Seeley Booth — was a report detailing events from a year ago. Over the years, Willow has seen and done things that shouldn’t phase her, but the more she read the report, the more sickened she got.

The case involved a serial killer called The Gravedigger. In this particular instance, Agent Booth — formally Angel, the vampire with a soul and presumed dead for the last five years — had been kidnapped by The Gravedigger and stowed away on a Navy ship scheduled for demolition. The report ended with how the agent had narrowly escaped, jumping on to a Navy helicopter seconds before the ship exploded. There also was a brief mention that Agent Booth’s kidnapping lead to the identity of The Gravedigger, but that it was being kept from the public for the time being as evidence still was being processed. An update posted at the bottom of the report a couple weeks later announced the killer as Heather Taffet, a former United States Attorney, whose court date would be coming up in eight months. Agent Booth and a couple of his colleagues, forensic anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan and scientist Dr. Jack Hodgins, both of whom had also been buried alive two years before Booth, would be star witnesses on the case.

Give me monsters any day, Willow thought as she finished reading the report. It was the human ones that made her stomach boil.

The library’s door opened then, and Spike’s head poked through. “Red, Giles’ needs you in the conference room,” he said.

Willow didn’t take her eyes off the computer but acknowledged him anyway. “You need to see this.”

Spike frowned, but made his way over to the witch anyway. He stood behind Willow and leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at the screen. “Bloody hell,” Spike exclaimed as soon as he saw the picture.

Willow nodded, waiting as he scanned the same report she had just finished reading, waiting for the inevitable cursing and muttering to come from such a revelation.

It didn’t.  

“Print it out,” Spike finally said, his voice strangely calm. He straightened up and started for the door. “Buffy needs to see this,” he called over his shoulder.

“Spike?” Willow asked, confused as to why he wasn’t freaking out — such a rational reaction would surely calm the nerves currently building up inside her. She hated it when the supernatural world ignored its own rules and logic, and a vampire/maybe former vampire FBI agent certainly counted.

Spike paused just as he got to the door and turned to look at the witch. From where he stood, the sunlight hit Spike directly. It had been five years, but Willow still couldn’t get used to seeing the former vampire in sunlight. Turned out Wesley was right — the Shanshu Prophecy meant the vampire with a soul would become human and live to die a natural death. Spike had already sacrificed himself in Sunnydale. His resurrection and subsequent foray into fighting the good fight and standing up to ultimate evil had been the clincher. It also helped that out of the only two vampires with a soul in the world, he was the only one left standing after the events in the alleyway. Buffy and the rest of them showed up in enough time to find only Spike and Illyria standing over the bodies of what looked to be a massive demon army. Neither Spike nor Illyria knew exactly what had happened to Angel, just that the last time Spike saw him, Angel was leaping from the Hyperion rooftop onto the back of the dragon. They searched and searched, until one freshman slayer made the obvious but annoying point that if Angel had died, there wouldn’t be a body, just dust. And the aftermath of Wolfram & Hart versus Angel Investigations left plenty of dust, blood, and tears. So Spike made the executive conclusion that Angel must have died during the fight, and then immediately collapsed to the ground as life pumped back into him.

Willow wasn’t sure if she was reading the situation correctly, due to her knowledge of the jealousy, rage, and multiple times they expressed wanting to kill each other that fueled Angel and Spike’s relationship, but ever since Spike’s heart started beating again, the former vampire seemed to resent it. Willow suspected Spike missed Angel, but he would never admit it. Numerous times she had to fetch him from the bar on late nights and would have him sleep on her couch. In the morning, he would already be gone and they never spoke of it.

“It’s okay, Red. We’ll figure this out. He’s alive, right?” Spike gave an uneasy laugh while scratching the back of his neck.

“According to the report, he almost died,” Willow argued.

“Apparently he’s an FBI agent now. They almost die all the time.” There was a pause. Then Spike smiled, shaking his head. “FBI agent. Step up from a private investigator, yeah? Only him. I’ll wait for you at the elevator, but hurry up. We need to talk to the others.”

Then he turned and walked back out, still shaking his head in disbelief.

Willow went back to her computer. She read the report one more time.

There was something odd about his ordeal on the Navy ship. To get to the deck of the ship, opening all those doors and escaping from a locked hatch would at least be a two-person job. Or a one-person job, if that one person happened to have vampire strength.

 She smiled and clicked “print.”


	4. In Which Booth Gets Answers, Sort Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments the past month! I apologize for the wait, hopefully after this chapter is posted I will go back to more regular posts. This chapter isn't my favorite, so I'll be eager to move past this one. Enjoy anyway!

You could always tell when Jack Hodgins was on to something big. Sweat would drip off his face while he bounced on the balls of his feet. His eyes would dart around the room, as if looking for anyone who might know that he knows whatever the hell they know that they don’t want anyone to know. 

Conspiracies are complicated. But the one surrounding Sweets and Booth is just plain weird. 

That was the other reason for Jack’s nervousness — he was planning on ambushing an FBI agent, but the risk posed by such an idea didn’t outweigh the potential of Jack being in on the secret Sweets and Booth were harboring. One would think that for two FBI guys, Sweets and Booth would be a bit more careful while conducting secret meetings. 

The time on his watch said 4:53. Jack had never left early in his entire life, but when he noticed Booth and Sweets walking toward the exit of the Jeffersonian, with no one else with them, he figured it was as good a time as any. Hodgins swept up the DVD lying next to his computer, grabbed his bag, and headed for the exit.

“Hey! Booth! Sweets!” he called, jogging up behind his two co-workers.

Booth didn’t flinch, but instead slowed his gait, with Sweets following, and slighty turned toward Hodgins as if the agent had been waiting for Hodgins to catch up. “What’s up?”

Hodgins tightened his hold on the bag. “Oh, nothing. Just wanted to say hey.”

Booth glanced at Hodgins as they made their way to the parking lot. “What do you want Hodgins?”

“What?”

Sweets raised his eyebrows at the scientist. “You’re sweating. And you look nervous. What is it that you want?”

“Oh, umm. Well actually I wanted to see if you guys wanted to do a movie night. Over at my house? Tonight.”

That made both FBI men stop. They didn’t say anything, just looked at Hodgins like he was suggesting they go put on some high heels and run a marathon. 

Gathering courage, Hodgins held up the DVD he had picked up at the store earlier that day. “I think we all three need to talk.” 

Sweets and Booth looked at the DVD. Booth took it from the scientist. “’Twilight?’ What kind of crap is this?”

“I couldn’t find ‘Dracula’ at the store, and that one was really cheap. But I think it gets the message across.”

“Hmm, and what message would that be?” Booth handed the DVD back, amused. 

Hodgins shrugged. “Oh, you know.”

When they didn’t answer, Hodgins started pacing. In the back of his mind, he figured a government parking lot was probably not the best place for this conversation, but he didn’t care. 

“I’ve heard you guys talking. You’re not as sneaky as you think, you know. Something about vampires, souls and magic, or whatever. And before you tell me to fuck off, Booth, I also know that you don’t know who you are, and you think you may have been, or still are, a vampire.”

Hodgins stopped his rambling to look back at them. To their credit, they gave away no indication that Hodgins was right. But there was one more card Hodgins was holding.

He stared right at Booth and said, “And I think I can help you with that.”

There. Booth tensed slightly at that, and Hodgins knew he had them. 

***

Amazingly, Sweets, Hodgins, and Booth made it to Hodgins’s mansion without any comments on why they were going and what they were planning on talking about. No references to crosses or garlic or undeadness. Not even a single joke about the idiocy of “Twilight.” Maybe once this was over, they all could play a drinking game where they took a drink every time the “Twilight” vampires were lame so they could get crazy drunk enough to forget about how much their lives have been flipped upside down. That is, if Booth doesn’t use his vampire skills to kill me first for eavesdropping on private conversations, Hodgins thought as he pulled into the driveway. Inside, they all three sat in the large living room, Booth nursing a beer, Sweets sipping coffee, and Hodgins nervously waiting for someone to say something.

“We don’t actually have to watch ‘Twilight,’ do we?” Booth asked, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table in front of him.

Hodgins wanted to tell Booth off for the feet on coffee table thing, but thought better of it when he remembered he was about to reveal to Booth that he’s been brainwashed to believe he’s someone else. Guess the drinking game is a no-go as well. 

“No, we don’t have to watch ‘Twilight.’”

“Good. So what did you mean when you said you could help me with my…situation?” 

So, right to it then. Hodgins glanced at Sweets, who was watching the conversation with an air of cool indifference, like he hadn’t witnessed a vampire rise out of the ground a couple of night ago. 

“Have you ever heard of Wolfram & Hart?” Hodgins asked.

“Can’t say I have,” Booth replied.

“They were a law firm.”

“Were?” Sweets asked, his interest peaking up. 

“Yeah. But they don’t exist anymore. Haven’t for five years.”

“Okay, wait. Back up,” Booth said, holding his hand up in the universal sign for ‘stop.’ “Is this one of your government conspiracies? Because if it is, I’m leaving right now.”

“No, it’s not. I promise. Wolfram & Hart disappeared off the face of the Earth and out of the minds of every civilian five years ago.”

“Then why do you know about it?” Sweets asked.

“Because I think I worked there.”

Booth and Sweets looked at one another. “Think?” Booth asked.

Hodgins nodded eagerly. “You’ve been having dreams, right? Of a life you don’t remember?”

Booth reluctantly nodded yes.

“Me too,” Hodgins continued. “But I was just a lowly lawyer at one of the most prestigious law firms in the world. I didn’t matter. But you….you mattered, Booth.”

“Me?” 

“Yeah. You.” 

Booth sat back, staring at Hodgins, looking for signs of Hodgin’s normally erratic behavior when talking about conspiracies. They were there, but they were subtle.

“What was so important about me?”

Hodgins smiled. “The thing about Wolfram & Hart, Booth, is that it wasn’t just any law firm. It was a demonic one. Evil. And you were the CEO.”

Booth laughed at that, though it could probably be defined as a ‘hysterical’ laugh. “I work hard for my country to put bad guys in prison. And now you’re saying I was CEO of an evil, demonic law firm?”

Hodgins snapped his fingers, pointing at Booth. “That’s the thing though. I don’t think you were evil.”

“Then what was I?”

With a sigh, Hodgins leaned back into the couch. “You were a 251-year-old vampire with a soul. Your name was Angel.”

Booth sat his beer down on the coffee table and leaned forward, wanting Hodgins to continue.

Hodgins looked right back at Booth, reaching deep for courage he didn’t think he possessed, but sort of remembered from the man now sitting before him. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”


End file.
